You can be my Trigger
by Sketchy Cannabis
Summary: After the war, Hermione shuts down emotionally to cope with the scars of being left behind. A certain blonde takes it upon himself to try and get her back to her old self.
1. Prologue

Title: You Can Be My Trigger

Pairing: HG/DM

Setting: After the war, AU.

Rating: M (Just to be safe)

Plot: After the war, Hermione shuts down emotionally to cope with the scars of being left behind. A certain blonde takes it upon himself to try and get her back to her old self.

**Prologue**

"I'm tired of feeling so numb." – Plumb "Cut"

Harry Potter, the boy who lived to grow into the man who survived, paced. His pacing was a nervous habit obtained during fifth year; all that time spent in that old house had affected him all the way to this point. At 23 now, the war had long been over and done. Casualties aside, it was almost as if it'd never happened, for most of the wizarding world. It was amazing how something could so easily be forgotten by those who it'd never touched. It was also amazing to Harry just how many had never been touched by the happenings between him and Voldemort. It amazed him to think that there were children born and years old who had never lived with the fear that some unknown spirit would crush their world on a whim.

It would seem that everything could go back to normal, as much as was possible. But it wasn't so. Running his hand through his tousled hair, he glanced nervously into the hospital room again. Muggle hospitals had always made him nervous, even when he was a child. It wasn't the muggle part so much, as the hospital part. He swallowed hard and took a brave step into the room.

Hermione Granger rested on the bed, her hands folded in her lap. "Hey, Hermione." Harry's voice broke the silence as Hermione turned to look at him. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she looked him over. He looked good, she admitted to herself silently.

"Harry," she greeted him quietly, her eyes returning to the window yet again.

Harry swallowed and took a nervous seat on the edge of the chair near the bed, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it when Hermione turned to stare at him. "Don't lecture me, Harry. I know it was dumb. But I'm fine, really." Her words softened as she finished, turning to the window. The TV was on mute, muggle news scrolling across the screen.

Hermione was a hero. With lady luck on her side, she'd managed to save a child from a building on fire while on her way home. But that wasn't what bothered Harry. Hermione had always been willing to take risks for others… but they'd always been calculated risks. A frown creased his brow as he sighed softly. "I know it's been rough, since… they… died, but, really, Hermione. You can't keep living like this."

Hermione shrugged, her hair coming from behind her ear as she looked back to the window. "I'm fine Harry." But she wasn't, and they both knew it. She went to work, she ate, she replied when asked a direct question, but she wasn't… lively. She didn't glow, she didn't list off random facts, when needled at, she didn't needle back. It was as if her fire had died a little each time they'd lost someone in the war, and at the end… well, she was barely a flicker, hardly a glimmer of what she'd once been.

Another sigh, and Harry stood. "If you say so, Hermione. But we're adult enough by now to admit that's not true." With his parting words, and a desperate glance over his shoulder, he left her in her room, her dull brown eyes still on the window. He didn't hear her soft whisper of acceptance, uttered on an exhale.

"I know."

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A/N: Here's the prologue. I'm going to upload chapter one, too, just to get things rolling. This story shouldn't be too long. Four - five chapters at most. I've got almost three written, so. We'll see.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"I do not want to die inside just to breathe in." – Plumb "Cut"

Hermione Granger did not like Fridays. Friday was a day off for her, and it plagued her weekly. She preferred to be at work, proofing, editing, doing her usual work for the ministry. Reports, so many, and she would gladly sink herself into them and let go of everything else outside of it.

Fridays made her realize how torn up she was. Life wasn't what it used to be, but she'd expected that. How could the war not change things? Ron was dead, Cedric, Dumbledore, Lavender, Bill, Remus, Sirius… The stress had taken the toll on her, and it was obvious to all those around her. Though, the only person who checked up on her was Harry, really. The others had gone off, moved on… lived their life. While she stayed in the same place, doing the same thing, for all her life, it felt like.

Friday was cleaning day. Laundry, dishes, dusting, sweeping, mopping… anything that was monotonous, tedious, time consuming… drowning. Hermione didn't keep a day planner, or a calendar. The days moved, she knew, but what was the point of keeping track? Her week was the same.

Working 10 AM to 7 PM Monday through Thursday, every week. No matter what. Holidays? Who needed them? Hermione sure didn't, though she ate Christmas dinner with Harry and Ginny, usually. She smiled her way through a stressful evening of trying to seem like she wasn't crazy and then went home to sleep off the worry. Saturday and Sunday were perhaps her favorite days: volunteering at the animal shelter. Desperate for something to fill her days off, she had searched the news board in the break room and found the shelter needing volunteers. So it hard started, volunteering to walk dogs, clean kennels, feed animals, fetch them for their owners and take care of basic paperwork.

It wasn't the most magical job in the world, and it certainly wasn't very impressive being a glorified pooper-scooper, but it did the trick for Hermione. Immersed in the sounds of friendly animals, making their day just a little bit better… well, that was something she could do.

Saturday dawned cool and crisp, the air tasting refreshing in the late summer weather. Taking a deep breath, Hermione made her way into the shelter, avoiding questioning glances as people brought up her fire rescue escapade. Hermione didn't see how it was that big of a deal; she'd done it without thinking. Her own life meant so little to her, what did it matter risking it to save another? Nothing, that's what.

Falling into her morning routine, cleaning the cages, petting and whispering as she went, Hermione could feel the stress slipping away. It took her awhile to realize she was being watched, absorbed as she was in the animals. She'd just reached the cage of one of her favorite dogs, one who she was consistently hoping would be adopted. Scratching Symon's ear, she glanced at her visitor.

"Draco." Her tone was flat as she pushed Symon out of the way to set down his fresh food bowl, one hand staying on him reassuringly as she moved.

"Granger." Draco raised an eyebrow at her, watching as she adored the dog. Draco himself could see little about him that was appealing. It was a mutt, just like the other dogs in this area, though apparently Granger had taken a specific liking to this dog. Typical. She'd been such a bleeding heart back in the day.

"Adopting a pet, Draco?" That same small, disinterested smile graced her lips as she pushed her hair back, shutting the kennel door on Symon, who whined at her, his tail wagging as he seemed to give a dog sigh.

"Not exactly," Draco replied, a frown on his lips as he looked at Symon. "What's so special about that dog?" He gestured vaguely at the black and tan dog.

Hermione looked back to Symon, and shrugged, feigning indifference. "He's friendly. He's been here a long time." Symon was one of her best friends. A friendly mixed breed, he had at least some bernese mountain dog in him, his build large with a long hair coat and inquisitive brown eyes. Lazy, friendly, and adoringly lovable, Hermione had fallen in love with his big brown eyes the first time he'd begged a treat from her.

"Why don't you adopt him?" Draco was still eyeing the dog in question with apprehension as he moved forward, offering his hand to be smelled by the ever curious dog.

"No room," Hermione lied smoothly. Lying was so much easier now, since she didn't care. If her little lies kept other people happy, why was there any reason to avoid them? She had problems recalling why she'd always though lies were terrible. They got her though the day; let her think, that maybe, things were okay. Just a little bit, at least.

"Ah," Draco replied, letting it drop. Symon had managed to slobber on his hand as he wiped it off delicately on his pant leg. He was still wondering how he'd let Potter convince him into this. He wasn't going to be able to get anywhere with Granger. She called him Draco, not Malfoy. She didn't put up a fight, she was… gone. Potter just hadn't accepted it. Draco had no clue as to how he was supposed to bring her back. But her affection for the dog was obvious enough. So maybe there was hope. She did care about something… just not the things people usually cared about. He'd never seen appeal in dogs, anyhow. Dumb, was the first word that came to mind when he looked at them, and if there was one thing Draco despised, it was stupidity.

His grey eyes wandered back up to Hermione, watching her without a bit of subtlety. She was thin, he noted, her clothes hanging awkwardly on her frame. Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes didn't glow quite enough. _Oh Granger,_ he though solemnly to himself, _what have you done to yourself? _The war had been hard on everyone, himself included.

Hermione was ignoring Draco as she went about a few more chores. One of the front desk ladies had come back in to twitter over Draco. Not surprising, in the least, to Hermione. He was attractive. His thin build, with some muscle defined over his lanky frame, and his platinum blonde hair cut to accentuate his cheek bones. Perhaps the only defect was the large scar running from the bridge of his nose in a diagonal line to the bottom of his jaw, but even then, it just added an air of danger to him. And women loved danger, didn't they? Draco had never shown even the slightest bit of consciousness about the scar from the war, and Hermione doubted that he even realized it was there most times. He seemed too full of himself to care about anything anyhow; life always worked out well for a Malfoy.

Giving a last pet through the cage wire to Symon, she turned to face Draco and the secretary again. She was trying valiantly to get his attention, and Draco was pointedly blowing her off. Potter had given him a mission, and he damn well was going to follow up on his end of the deal. "Granger, do you have plans for lunch?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. "I usually eat something in the break room and then do my afternoon duties. I don't really do 'lunch'." _And not with you,_ she added silently to herself as she brushed past him.

Draco let a breath out slowly between his teeth as he followed her. "Perhaps you should consider 'doing lunch' now and then," he retorted as he caught up to her. Hermione was washing her hands, and Draco followed suit, his hand feeling a little icky from Symon's investigating.

"I'd really rather not, Draco."

"I insist, Granger." After pausing to pick an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder, he turned to face her, shrugging, "Unless you're afraid." He left the dig about being a Gryffindor unspoken, as there were muggles about who would be likely to overhear.

Hermione made a very unladylike snort as she turned from him, walking through a door labeled 'staff only'. Draco followed, not about to let some door stand in his way. "Why're you being so insistent, Draco? We weren't exactly friends before." Her eyes were on his, searching for something. Well, at least he had her vaguely interested.

"I'm a masochist at heart, Granger." It annoyed him that she was so cool, so… blank. The only facial expressions she seemed to possess was the blank empty stare and the forced wishy-washy smile that made her look awkward.

"That's good to know," she remarked absently as she pulled her lunch from the small fridge. Watching as she munched on carrots and what looked to be a sandwich of some sort, Draco frowned more.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Granger?" Draco folded his arms over his chest as he watched her nibble a carrot.

"Nothing's wrong with me, Draco. Are you trying to start a fight? It really won't work, you know." Blank. Always so blank. Hermione could feel the stirring of something – perhaps it was minor irritation, but she ignored it. If she started feeling anything, it would all come back. The smell of charred flesh, screams, her own and others… it was better this way, she concluded silently, weighing her options mentally as she watched Draco.

"I'm bloody well trying to start a fight, Granger. That's one of your best traits. Or was, at least." Tossing his hands up in the air and making an irritated sound, he brushed past the simpering secretary and exited the building, muttering to himself the whole way.

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A/N: Voila. Enjoy. Hopefully I'll write more tonight. I was up until two last night writing. XD


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Anger is not only inevitable, it is necessary. Its absence means indifference, the most disastrous of all human failings." -- Arthur Ponsonby

Draco soon managed to worm himself into Hermione's weekends. Her once peaceful routine was soon interrupted by a weasel faced blond with vengeance on his agenda. Each day she volunteered, he'd arrived to ask her to lunch. Each day she'd turned him down (to the distress of her coworkers) and he'd take it, with a bitter bite about how afraid she was.

Since his needles seemed to get him nowhere with her, he'd taken to spending time at the shelter, stealing a chair to read and watch her work, making commentary the whole time. No matter what angle he tried, she ignored him, brushed him off. With the coolest head in the history of the world, he swore.

Finally, he tried a new angle. Bending over to pick up some dirty bedding, Hermione gave Draco a fantastic view down her shirt. Grinning a little, a glint in his storm grey eyes, Draco commented lightly as he flipped the page of his magazine, "White lace Granger, so pure." When she looked up at him questioningly, he moved his gaze to her chest, slinking back to her face as he added absently, "It suits you. Though I do so prefer a nice blue or green. Black's nice too."

Out of the corner of his eye, pretending to scan the article on some muggle celebrity, he caught a flush creeping up her cheeks. Good. Served her right, in his opinion. He'd never thought that agreeing to help Potter would be so time consuming. So what, the prat had saved his life, and left him with a scar instead of a funeral. Just because he owed him didn't mean he was going to spend every weekend of his at this dratted shelter just to make good on it.

Hermione had easily ignored his commentary. Most of it was the same, just recycled week after week. Tiring, really. But nothing she couldn't handle. Pushing hair back from her face, she stalked stiffly to get new bedding for the boxer who was watching her curiously. Giving the dog a pat on the head as she laid down the clean material, she felt the stirring of something that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Anger. It was a comforting burn under her chest bone as she calmly cleaned the next kennel, wishing that she was closer to Symon. But she still had three more to go before she could go to his, and going out of order would through her off. Habit defined her life.

What right did Draco have to harass her like this? None, she thought silently to herself. It was hard to clamp down on anger. Sadness, self-pity, they were easy to crush before she got carried away. But anger? It was a slow burn, building into something so slowly she didn't care to squash it. What was the harm with a little anger? None, until it bloomed into a full out flame.

She had just bent to fill a clean water bowl when Draco's drawl broke into her space again, "Those pants almost do your ass justice, Granger. You really should continue to starve yourself. It's almost vogue." Holding up the latest gossip magazine, he pointed to a heading. It claimed 'THIN IS IN' in bold pink writing, and he raised an eyebrow.

Biting her tongue, she continued with her cleaning, methodical, though Draco noticed a stiffness in her movements. When she reached Symon, she stayed with him for a while longer. Petting him, easing her fingers through the knots in his fur, she pulled loose hair gently from his coat. He really was a gorgeous animal, with his tan points and lush fur. It was too bad she wasn't there enough to be a good human for him. Having a pet was a huge responsibility, Hermione knew that. And her, living half a life… well, she wasn't really pet material. She didn't want to let him down too.

Brushing her pants off as she stood, leaving Symon for the day, she brushed pass Draco, not bothering to acknowledge him. She stopped at the door as his voice came to her, again. "So, do your panties match? Because now I'm really curious."

Clenching a fist, Hermione slammed the door behind her as she exited the building. Draco would get what was coming to him, she swore to herself silently as she walked home at a faster pace than usual. Ferrets always got what was coming to them.

The following week passed slower for Hermione. She'd kept busy thinking up all the delightfully terrible things to do to get back at Draco, and now she had to wait for the day when she could actually implement them.

So when she arrived thirty minutes early to work, her cheeks a little flushed from her brisk walk, she found that she was _feeling_ again. Excitement. It tasted fresh to her. The world seemed clearer, sharper to her. As if she'd been seeing everything through a film and suddenly it'd been cleaned off. She took extra time with each dog, giving them more love and care as she worked, mentally preparing herself for when Draco arrived. He arrived sharply at 11, as he had every day for the past two months. It had startled Hermione to discover that he'd been coming that long, without fail.

"So, Granger, ready to grace me with your presence at lunch today?" His swagger was bold, but he'd already brought a chair in, a new magazine from the lobby tucked under his arm as he waited for her refusal.

Hermione straightened her back, stretching as she looked to Draco, crossing her arms. "I'm not having lunch with you." Draco rolled his eyes, and sat down, breaking out his magazine. "But… I think dinner would work."

It had been worth it. Draco's cool grey eyes came up, eyebrows pulled together slightly before one raised cockily. "Dinner?" Well, that was new. Running a hand through his hair, he stood up, picking his chair up. "In that case, I'll pick you up at 6." At Hermione's nod, Draco took his exit, wondering if perhaps there was something worth salvaging in Hermione Granger after all.

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A/N: There's chapter two. =D Enjoy. Wow, since this got so many alerts put on it from people, I decided to upload this chapter tonight instead of waiting a few days. Hope you all enjoy it.I know the chapters are short, but it's going to be a short-ish story, too. Hope you all like it thus far; dinner will be interesting for sure.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Smile like you mean it." – The Killers

Hermione didn't know what to wear. Nothing fit right. And since when did she worry about what she wore? All the emotions suddenly in her head and heart and her stomach made her feel sick. She wanted to run. But she couldn't. She wasn't going to back down form a challenge that she'd accepted.

She'd bloody well go to dinner with Draco and she'd make him eat all those damn insults that he'd been flinging at her for weeks on end. That's how it was going to be, and Hermione would have it no other way.

And desperate times called for desperate measures. "Ginny? Yes, it's Hermione. No, nothing's wrong… I just could use some help. Yeah, I've got… a dinner to go to tonight. You wouldn't happen to have any dresses I could borrow, do you?" And in the short span of the conversation, Ginny was in the floo and at her flat, holding a suitcase of some of her dresses. After a few tries, they finally decided that a little black dress was the best wisdom in the book of fashion. It was a delicate dress, with little wisps of sheer fabric on the shoulders, and a v-cut neck, swooping down to end sooner than Hermione was really comfortable with. But Ginny had wooed her into it, and Hermione wasn't going to back out.

A simple pendant necklace, dark dangling earrings, and a dash of makeup, and Hermione felt prepared to take on Draco. The dress ended about mid thigh, flaring a bit to accentuate her waist. It was softly form-fitting, filling her figure out a bit more. She'd taken Draco's advice, or perhaps his counter-advice, and tried to eat a little more. Her clothes were seeming quite loose lately.

"So, are you going to tell me who you're dressing up for? I'm about to explode from the mystery of it all." Ginny was playing with her hair, coaxing it up into delicate tendrils, twisting and clipping and pinning, letting a few strands fall about her face.

"I'm not dressing up. This is battle armor." Hermione turned slightly, a flush on her cheeks. Ginny had noticed the spark in her tawny eyes, wondering, if finally, her friend was coming back.

"Battle armor?" Ginny laughed a little. "The poor fellow is going to be knocked off his feet before you even get in range, Hermione!"

Hermione smiled a small smile, one that managed to reach her eyes, as she felt a bubble of feeling in her stomach again. "That's really the point, Ginny."

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Draco Malfoy was not used to surprises. Admittedly, he could take them, and sometimes, he even did well with them. Especially if they worked out to his advantage. But at this point, it was hard to see how the woman he'd been watching clean up dog shit for the past two months could suddenly make his stomach do a somersault. The dainty shoulder straps begged to be pulled down, revealing creamy skin sprinkled with a few freckles, and the half of her thighs that were covered only led his mind on a wandering fantasy about what the other half looked like. Drawing his eyes up, finally, he met liquid brown eyes with a small smile at the corner of his lips. "Silly me, being afraid you'd under-dress."

Draco's plans changed in that second. He'd originally intended to drag her out to some so-so restaurant and make a last valiant effort to appease Potter. Hermione's shy smile, a real honest to Merlin smile, almost made the past two months of enforced hell worth it. He wasn't proud that he had acquired such a vast knowledge of muggle celebrities in the past few weeks. What a god awful way to spend time.

A few discreet calls before getting in the car and his plan was hatched. Soon they pulled up to one of his favorite five star restaurants, where being a Malfoy was damn near to being the Pope. Seated by the full-length windows that gave a wonderful view of the garden, Draco still had to fight the urge to hold his breath. She was stunning. The candlelight throwing shadows across her face, the small, secretive smile given to him when he made an outrageous comment. Who would've thought he'd actually enjoy himself?

Hermione took a bite of her pasta and listened to Draco ask about the different wines. In all honesty, the only difference Hermione could ever tell between a wine was if it was white or red, and sometimes, those pinkish ones threw her off. Draco finally decided on a late harvest Riesling, agreeing with the wine expert.

She admitted she was a little overwhelmed. She hadn't thought going to dinner with Draco would be such a huge affair. Getting dressed up was a little over the top, but she hadn't been able to help it. She needed something to make her feel like she could stand up straight and defend herself. What was better than a good dose of feminine empowerment?

"So, is this a date?" The question had slipped from her lips before she knew what she was thinking. There was a feeling that she hadn't missed: embarrassment. The blush crept up her cheeks, and she was suddenly glad for the candle light.

Draco chewed thoughtfully for a second before replacing his fork. The wine had been delivered, and after taking a sip, he shrugged. "If you're really counting, this would be our 34th date."

Hermione laughed, a hesitant sound, as if she wasn't sure she was doing it right. "Are we really counting then?" She took an appreciative taste of the wine, the chilled sweetness taking a bite off her nerves as she relaxed into the chair just a little.

"I am." Draco swirled the wine in his cup absently, as he looked up from under his lashes at her, grey eyes seeming more translucent in the lighting, as he added quietly, "Unless you object." The thoughts in his head were swimming contradictions. He was sure Potter would be mad if he tried to sleep with Granger. But the very atmosphere encouraged such thoughts. Delicate wine, candle light, fantastic food… and a little black dress that would be so terribly easy to slip off her.

Pushing a noodle around, Hermione shook her head. "I… don't object." Her stomach fluttered a bit as she glanced up at him, quickly pulling her wine glass towards herself to try and hide her anxious air. She'd never thought Draco was attractive before. His ferret incident had pretty much settled her on the deal. He was a ferret, through and through. But this… was a different side of him.

A navy blue button down shirt, bringing out his eyes and setting his hair into high contrast, complimented his refined presence. And he was refined, Hermione was sad to admit. He'd grown up, into quite a different person than she'd first imagined he would. He was funny, charming, handsome, and determined, too. Smoothing a hand down the dress, which had indeed felt all too short when Draco's eyes had roamed up her legs, Hermione set her fork down.

The dinner passed more comfortably after that, Draco telling her winsome stories of his dealings with the general populace, having turned himself into a modern day business man. Soon laughter came easier to her, seeming to spill over and light up his grey eyes each time a giggle came from her.

When it was time to leave, instead of steering her to the car, Draco led her to the garden behind the restaurant. Finding her heels too confining, Hermione soon kicked them off, leaning against a bench to slip them off. Draco watched her from afar, an unsettling expression in his eyes.

"What?" Straightening, Hermione let the shoes dangle from her fingers. The path was smooth cobblestone, and her toes had been starting to complain.

"Nothing." Draco shrugged, waiting for her to catch up. But Hermione got the feeling there was something there, something more in those grey eyes than he'd been willing to admit. They walked in silence, standing close, but not touching. Draco wanted to. Very much so. But the problem was that he was so afraid he'd break her. She was fragile, he knew that. So he would take it slow. The former Slytherin had already concluded in his sneaky little mind that she was going to be his, though. He was a patient man. So he would bide his time and woo her as needed.

The evening ending was almost as nerve wracking to Hermione as the beginning had been. But Draco was the perfect gentleman; dropping her off, walking her to her door, and, to her surprise, sneaking a soft kiss. She'd been unlocking her door one second, and he'd said something. She turned, not really thinking about it, then his lips had been on hers.

All the feelings in the past few days, they had been nothing compared to that kiss. The needling, the taunting… nothing had burned into her mind like his kiss. Soft, was the first impression, then warm. The heat in her face and hands and the pit of her stomach made her giddy. When he pulled baack (too soon in Hermione's opinion), her cheeks were flushed and her hand with the key was trembling. Flashing a smirk, Draco steadied her hand, helping her unlock the door.

Taking a step inside, Hermione watched him. Seconds before he turned, she managed to reach out and grab his jacket. "Tea?" She asked, licking her lips nervously as her mouth seemed to be as dry as it had been the day Ron had finally admitted he'd loved her.

Confusion, then surprise, and finally gratitude seemed to flit on Draco's face, before he nodded, removing his hat as snowflakes began to fall outside. Hermione thought it was amazing that she was suddenly able to recognize all these emotions on his face. It was a wonder, surely. She'd never thought Draco was open about his emotions, and it took her a second (as she put the kettle on the stove) to realize that he wasn't open.

She was just good at reading him.

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A/N: Happy Halloween! I decided yet again to upload early; this story is getting a lot of attention. Probably one more chapter, then maybe an epilogue. So. Enjoy! And be safe. Don't eat any unopened candy and be sure to travel with friends. /parental instincts


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"All our lives we try to find a way back to our innocence." – Self Against City

Pleading a moment to change, Hermione slipped into her room. Breathing a bit easier, she found a comfortable sweater and some jeans (still too loose, she noted) and tried to compose herself in front of the mirror. It was as if she was staring at a stranger. Unpinning her hair slowly, Hermione tried to find some trace of the woman she'd been before Draco. But it was hard. There was a glow to her eyes, a flush of colour on her face, and a smile that came often and unexpectedly. The other woman had been much paler, sallow looking. Running a nervous hand through her hair, Hermione bit her bottom lip before finally stepping back out into the common area. Her flat seemed unbearably small with Draco in it suddenly. There was no place to escape his lingering gaze, no place to hide.

Taking a deep breath, she poured the tea with unsteady hands. She hadn't heard Draco come up behind her. But suddenly her back was warm from his stomach, as his hand folded over hers softly. "Let me help, Hermione."

It was a double entendre. She knew it. It took all the control she had not to let a sob at that moment. Help? Hermione Granger didn't want help. She wanted to forget. Brushing his hand from hers, she moved away, taking a tea cup with her. Her eyes avoiding his, she murmured softly, "You can't help me, Draco."

Pouring his own tea, stirring in a bit of honey, Draco turned to face her, his hands cradling the warm cup. It gave him an anchor. Blowing on it softly, he watched Hermione. "I was there when he died, you know."

Hermione stiffened. She'd known immediately whom Draco was talking of. Licking her suddenly dry lips, her eyes darted up to meet his for just a second. "I didn't know that." Deny interest. The details would be more pain, adding to already vivid nightmares, she told herself. But morbid curiosity was a terrible human fault, she knew. Setting her tea on her table with trembling hands, the clatter of ceramic the only sound in the kitchen, she whispered softly, "You should go."

"No."

Her gaze lifted to meet Draco's grey eyes. She'd expected them to be cold, hard. Impenetrable as usual. But they were oddly comforting; mimicking her own sadness on a depth Hermione hadn't thought Draco capable of. "I don't want to know."

"Yes you do." Draco set his own tea down, leaning against the counter. "You won't let go, Hermione. Don't you see what's happening to you? To those around you." His tone softened, "Surely you must. You were never dumb."

Hermione's face paled a bit as she turned, trying to avoid Draco. He made her feel again, and now that he'd brought on all those warm fuzzy feelings that she'd forgotten about, he was bringing back all the sharp painful ones that she'd desperately wanted to forget.

"Don't run, Granger." But she was gone, behind a locked bedroom door. Sliding down the cool wood, Hermione crumpled at the bottom, the tears coming silently. The door would protect her only so much though – Draco's voice was still coming, soft and level. "Voldemort was just about to kill me too, you know. He'd found I was a traitor. Potter just missed saving Weasley." Draco leaned against the door, hearing her sobs, but knowing that he had to go on. So what if he lost her? If she didn't know, she couldn't get over it, and this was about her. Not him. A worthy sacrifice, he thought to himself.

"Voldemort had been trying to get answers from him, about Potter's plan to attack. It was going poorly, to say the least." A pause. "It was you, to the last second, Hermione. Him telling me that if I made it out of this alive, I was to… help you. Because he knew you, better than I do, that's for sure. All I've managed to do is hurt you." Draco steeled himself, bracing his emotions, trying to think of the benefits of a clean break. "Ron Weasley is dead, Hermione. And you are not. There are so many people waiting for you to realize it. Including me."

Having spoken his piece, Draco moved from the door, gathered his things, and left, the sounds of sobs promising him nightmares of his own. Somehow, he knew, it would've been better to sleep with her. Because Potter was definitely going to kill him for this one.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione called in sick the next day for the first time in four years. Laying on her bed, feet flipped over the edge, her eyes blankly staring at the ceiling, Hermione tried to find the numb place in herself that she'd trusted for safety for so many years.

And she couldn't.

It was as if the place had evaporated with Draco's first genuine smile. Closing her eyes, Hermione slipped into sleep. Her dream woke her with a start, and then the tears soon followed. It'd been a long while since she'd dreamt of Ron. Admittedly, the other times, there'd been a lot less detail to it all, something her mind had conjured up to keep herself at least a little sane.

In the dream, she'd been plucking bottles from a high cupboard, standing on a ladder. All she could remember was that each bottle held a splash of memory, swirling around and around. It was spring cleaning. She'd remembered thinking that her cupboard was too cluttered, and she needed to get rid of some stuff. So some of the bottles were dumped down a sink, and others moved to a safer place. None of the memories made sense, really. Just glimpses and flashes of feeling. Ron's teasing grin and Draco's soft lips. Harry's sad eyes and Ron's cold body that no spell she'd ever learned could help. Symon's trusting eyes and Draco's hand on her shoulder. The sadness in Draco's eyes as he'd told her of Ron's last few moments… that was the memory that was most intense.

His grey eyes had been so dark at that moment, a twist to his lips that mimicked irony. A few creases in his forehead as he tried to find the right words. He treated her so carefully, and she could tell. Each word thought and planned, a design to not break the china doll. _Ron Weasley is dead._ Why did the words keep circling in her head? She knew that Ron was dead.

Even when she was numb, she'd known he was gone. It wasn't like he showed up at her door anymore with flowers, and she had no more incidents of coming home to find him in her bed. So why was it such a big deal now that she wasn't dulling everything down? It didn't, right? Because Ron had been dead for years.

Letting go. It was harder to do than Hermione had imagined. She'd been clinging to guilt for so many years. For not stopping him, for not practicing defensive spells with him more often, for not being a good enough girlfriend… for living, when he died. Swallowing harshly, Hermione wiped her cheeks. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. The tears had come unexpected as she remembered… and let go.

It'd taken years for her to realize that 'letting go' was a silly term people used. Because you never _really_ 'let go'. And why would you want to? It was about accepting it, and having the strength to move on. It was about being who you could in the present and remembering, honoring them with your memories, and moving forward regardless. The pain was still there, she realized. She guessed there would always be twinges. But it wasn't crippling. It wasn't life consuming and it wasn't the end of her life.

Draco had been right. Ron Weasley was dead. Just like the others. But she was not. It was dumb of her to live her life as if she was. Slowly, calm settled in her heart that she hadn't felt in years; it seeped through her. Changing out of her pajamas, Hermione let the tranquility fill her. Already it felt as if the years past were more of a memory. It wasn't as if she'd been living, but more that she'd sat back and watched a terribly slow movie of her life pass before her. And at this point, she was tired of being in the audience.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Draco was confused as to why Hermione had suddenly called him, insistent on stopping by. As soon as he'd managed to floo to her chimney, apprehension apparent in every line of his body, he'd been dragged to the car.

Hermione was silent as she drove, her eyes on the road and her hands relaxed on the wheel. That was good, Draco thought to himself. Somehow he didn't think she'd forgiven him, but if she wasn't hiding in her room from everything, that was at least a good sign that he hadn't completely shattered her.

When they stopped, Draco let a slow breath through clenched teeth. The memorial. He himself had donated the land for it. Swallowing has he watched her walk in, he stood his ground. He couldn't go in there. It was too much for him, and there was no way he was going to go ask for hurt. One little word from Hermione changed that. "Please."

Defenses crumbling, he stared back at her liquid gaze. Finally, straightening his shoulders out, he took the few steps towards her and nodded stiffly. Her hand slipped into his, and he could feel her trembling. "I can't do this alone, Draco." Giving him a shaken smile she led him through the pathway. There were plaques all over, quotes, statues, history, dedications. Wilted and fresh flowers alike decorated the area as Draco remembered the day it had been dedicated.

Potter had given a speech, choked up as Hermione stared at her feet beside him. The Weasley girl had been at his side, pale as a sheet. Draco had remained calmly blank as he listened, trying to ignore the list of names announced. There were too many people on it that he had worked closely with, too many that he had never had a chance to say goodbye to.

Unconsciously, he flexed his arm, feeling the pull of the scar tissue from where his Dark Mark had been. Gritting his teeth, he focused on the plaque before them. Hermione had slowed, trembling as she approached it. Her hand grazed the cool bronze lightly as Draco read over the inscription yet again, as he'd been the one to help oversee all the metal work.

"Ron Weasley, aged 19. Remembered fondly by many, and missed by more." Below the large print was more, going on about Weasley's family and those he left behind. Her hand still on the plaque, Hermione whispered under her breath, her other hand squeezing Draco's gently.

"Rest well, Ron."

* * *

A/N: Okay. Fixed a few errors that a few reviewers have pointed out. I admit fully to the fact that I write this story after doing nine hour days and lacking sleep. XDD I have the epilogue written, and I'll probably upload it tomorrow. So. Enjoy. =D


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I love you, not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you." – Roy Croft

The coming months were some of the most trying, and rewarding, times of Draco Malfoy's life. Hermione never did let him forget all of those insults and prods he'd flung at her over their courting period at the shelter. Finally, in exasperation, he'd thrown his hands up, and shouted at her that he was sorry, but that he didn't regret it because it worked out well for them both in the end. She stopped needling him about it, after that.

Hermione moved out of her flat a month after visiting the memorial, finding a nice little house out near the Weasleys, whom she was now visiting regularly. The family had their reservations about Draco at first, but seeing the glow in Hermione's eyes and the flush on her cheeks was more than enough to convince them.

Harry was rather smug about the whole thing, embellishing his part in it all as Hermione blushed in Draco's lap. Ginny put him back in his place, telling him that it was her dress Hermione had worn, after all.

Draco let them have their fun. He knew, after all, that it was really all his suave moves and determination that got him the girl in the end. (He, of course, made no mention of this thought to Hermione; he didn't want her bursting his bubble.)

Two months after moving out, Draco showed up on her doorstep with a plaintive look. "I found this dog… and he needs a place to sleep as my mother really hates dogs and my flat is too small." Snuffing through a slit in the window of Draco's work car, Hermione instantly recognized Symon. Soon Symon was the most spoiled dog on the block, with his own room, chew toys galore, and a spot on Hermione's bed… at least until Draco had a stern talking to him about exactly who had the opposable thumbs in the relationship.

Hermione and Draco visited the memorial a year later, holding hands as they left flowers at Ron's grave. Walking from the memorial, Hermione had slipped Draco a key, smirking (like a Slytherin, he noted) at his confused look as she told him quietly that she expected him home by 9.

Later that night, in _their_ house, with _their dog_, and in _their_ bed, Draco pulled Hermione closer. It was about time Hermione got a happy ending, after all. And he was pleased as plums to be the one to help her there.

* * *

A/N: Here you go. Voila. Finale. Done. End. Over! I've recently been working on an original story, but we'll see how that goes. Try to do some dabbles, something. So I'll see you all in the near future hopefully. ^_^ This story wasn't perfect by a long shot, and I did it without a beta, sooo... hope it was okay. XD Something soon should be coming, and I'll try to get some stuff up. This is going up early, as this is my Friday, and I won't be around for another four days most likely. So be happy. :D


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